The Forgotten
by luminique
Summary: Voldemort's followers tampered with the Magical Registry so it wouldn't record muggleborns - now, at the age of 21, they've been found and brought to Hogwarts for a special training session, but they're not all entirely harmless. Almost all OCs.


Emily Larkin struggled up the last flight of stairs to her apartment, arms weighed down by bags full of groceries, breathing hard from the unaccustomed exertion. "Damn broken elevator," she mumbled to herself. Upon reaching her door, she dropped the bags on the floor and pulled a key out of her pocket, then unlocked the door and, hoisting the bags again with a groan, stepped inside.

The space was the best that a student in Boston could afford, even with parental help, which is to say, small, dark and dingy. Emily tossed her bags on the kitchen counter and only then noticed the man standing in the small area she called a living room. She screamed and ran for the door, reaching into her pocket for her cell phone. Suddenly she collided with an invisible barrier, as if the air had turned solid yet springy, tossing her back without knocking her off her feet.

"Emily Larkin?"

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" She pushed wildly at the unseen membrane keeping her trapped in the apartment. Dimly she heard glass shattering somewhere in the apartment.

"Please, be calm. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"And you don't want to hurt me right?" She flashed back to all the crime novels she had read. The murderers always said that before they attacked.

"I have no intention to hurt you. You will not be hurt, this I promise."

Oddly, he seemed sincere. At the very least, he hadn't made a move towards her yet, so Emily let down her guard enough to ask him, "Why are you here?"

"I am here, Miss Larkin, because you are a witch. My name is Professor Mortimer and I am here as an official representative of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"What .. witchcraft? What are you talking about?" Now absolutely sure she was trapped with a madman, Emily pushed even harder at the barrier keeping her from the door. She suddenly realized that her left hand was clutching her phone. She had just hit the 9 when she heard a soft "Accio phone" and it flew out of her hands and into the hand of the man on the sofa.

"Please…please don't hurt me."

Suddenly her small coffee table flew into the air, scattering papers all over the room. Mortimer dove to the floor as it crashed into the sofa, overturning it and sending both pieces of furniture careening into the wall.

"Not bad, although your aim could use some work." He stood up, brushing invisible debris from the long robe he wore. "Would you please stop whimpering? I told you, I'm not here to hurt you. Sit down."

Emily stayed rooted to the spot, eyes wide. Mortimer sighed impatiently. "Have it your way." He waved a stick, muttering to himself, and the furniture immediately shifted back to its proper order. Resuming his seat on the sofa, he gazed pointedly at the frightened young woman. "Emily Rose Larkin, daughter of William and Anna. You were born in England, Shropshire to be precise, in 1979. When you were seven years old, your parents decided to immigrate to the United States. The rest of your childhood was spent in a small town in Vermont. You are now a student of biochimeckery."

"Biochemistry," she corrected automatically. "Wait, why do you know all that about me?"

"We have been searching for you, and the others, for several months now. Because, as I have said, you are a witch."

That word again. She shook her head. "You're crazy, witches are something out of – of stories. There's no such thing."

"Yet, in your fear, you broke a window and threw that table at me, without touching either. There's a magic barrier blocking you from leaving, I hold your phone in my hand, and you just watched this furniture tidy itself. Is this sufficient evidence of the existence of magic or shall I demonstrate further?"

Emily, trained in thinking rationally, considered this evidence. There were two possibilities: either all of this was real, or she had completely lost her mind. She considered the second but dismissed it; surely if she was going insane there would have been signs before this. She stepped away from the barrier and sat in a chair facing the strange Professor.

"OK, I'm a witch. How did I become one?"

"You were born one, of course."

"My parents aren't. I would have noticed if they were going around doing magic."

He smiled, apparently pleased with her curiosity. "The magical ability often appears in those of Muggle – non-magical- blood. It is theorized that it comes from long-ago ancestors, passed in the blood unknown for generations until one day, a magical child is born."

Emily nodded. "It's a recessive trait, then. But why is it just now manifesting in me?"

"Just now? I think if you search your memories, you will find many unusual incidents, odd happenings around you, particularly when you were experiencing strong emotions. Of course, not knowing about magic, you just told yourself that what had happened was impossible and put it out of your mind."

As he spoke, a series of images flooded Emily's mind: a cloud of butterflies suddenly surrounding her as she raced for home on the day she learned she was to be valedictorian; a boy nearly drowning, suddenly seemingly thrown from the water onto shore; a glass shattering in a young woman's hand with such force that shards of glass drove into her smiling, sneering face; a jumble of dozens of faint memories. She half-whispered, "I did that, I did magic."

"Of course you did. Wild, uncontrolled magic, without thought or intention. Child's magic. In the normal course of events, you would have begun schooling at the age of 11 to learn to control that magic."

"Why didn't I? Why did you have to come looking for me ten years late?"

Mortimer shifted his gaze, focusing intently on the phone he still held in his hand. "There is a registry which magically records all births of wizards and witches throughout Britain. When you were born – well, it was a turbulent time. Names were left off, we suspect due to tampering. Nobody knew you, or the others like you, existed."

Emily gawked at him in surprise. "Others like me?"

"Yes. Twenty in total, all muggleborn – children of non-magical parents. A clever clerk figured it out, and finally we've found you all. Now you can receive the magical education that is your birthright."

"Magical education? So you're going to tutor me? Where will you stay? Certainly not here, there's only one bedroom and anyway I can't have a stranger move in-"

He held up his hand. "Not here. You must go to Hogwarts, in Scotland."

"But, I can't go to Scotland! I have so much to do here, I can't just drop out of school," she exclaimed vehemently.

"We have taken that into consideration. There will be a special Hogwarts summer session, specifically for your group. That will be enough to learn basic control. Arrangements for further training can be made later." He stared at her intently. "You must do this. A lack of control is dangerous to you, and all around you."

Emily thought again of the shards of glass slicing into the beautiful face of her hated rival, the girl's screams, the blood running down her hands as she grabbed at her injuries. "Yes, I will go."

"Very well. I will return in two month's time to escort you." He smiled. "I do hope this won't distract you from your studies. I've been told you are quite the scholar."

"I won't let it." She smiled back.

Professor Mortimer laid her phone on the coffee table, stood up, and pointed his wand at the shattered window. "I'll just fix this before I go. Reparo!" The glass smoothly reassembled itself in the frame. Then with a nod and a smile, he waved his wand again and a loud crack rent the air as he vanished.


End file.
